Polite Acrimony
by petalled
Summary: Complete. 4xD ficlet series. Six ficlets chronicling various moments in the shared existence of a pair who crossed swords before crossing into each other's lives.
1. Reciprocation

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine

**Author's Note****:** All right, so Polite Acrimony's going to get off the ground with this first ficlet. This'll run for six ficlets. Wish me luck on this endeavor.

**Polite Acrimony**  
**by mistress amethyst une**

**Reciprocation—"You owe me."**

"For an executive of your caliber, you sure are easy to subjugate," said Dorothy, smirking down at the blonde caught between her and the polished surface of her oak desk.

He smirked back, making her squeal in surprise as he somehow turned the situation in his favor. Without warning, he gripped her and rolled, effectively placing her beneath him. The fact that neither of them tumbled down onto the floor bordered on miraculous. Certainly, it would take nothing short of severe skeletal system trauma to put a stop to this display of desk debauchery.

"A mere consequence of politics," he snorted, leering down at her with his best impression of menacing. "Feigning defenselessness has always been an integral part of the act. You know that better than anyone."

This time around, they did tumble to the floor. Dorothy landed atop him, quickly locking his hands above his head with her own as she stole a kiss. Quatre silently thanked whoever invented carpeting and loose-fitting pants.

"Of course I do," she shot back.

Somehow, he managed to slip his hands out of her grip. Another roll. She regretted the sleeveless top she'd opted to wear. Carpet burns were a pain.

"Pleasing the people is practically in the job description," he sighed. "You can't fault me for that."

She struggled beneath him, unable to muster the appropriate maneuver to gain dominance once more.

"The people?" she taunted. "Oh please...I hardly consider your clients _the people. _And the amount of time you waste pandering to each and every one of them is-_"_

He gently nipped at her mouth then, unable to suppress a chuckle as he drew a moan from her.

"Jealous? No worries. You're one of _the people,_ aren't you?"

"Technically speaking," she said breathlessly. "Part of the public sphere..."

"Then I aim to please."

"I hope to high hell you don't please the rest of _the people _in any way resembling the way you please me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he laughed. "Of course, to guarantee that, we'd need a binding contract."

She rolled her eyes. "It's called a marriage contract. We've had one for five years."

"Just reminding you," he chortled.

"Memo received," she groaned as his lower extremities moved in ways that were not the least bit conducive to maintaining her sanity. "Now take those damned pants off already or I'll make certain payback's more of a bitch than I am."

* * *

Ficlet finished. :)


	2. Consistency

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine

**Author's Note****:** Time for my second ficlet. :) By the way, to those in the USA, I strongly encourage everyone to watch Better Off Ted when it airs back to back episodes on ABC on the 1st of January. Seriously, Portia de Rossi as Veronica is like watching live action Dorothy. I would hate to see that show cancelled. :( Also, this was inspired by the mock-up ads for the fictional company in the show: Veridian Dynamics. :D

**Polite Acrimony**  
**by mistress amethyst une**

**Consistency—"We've always done it that way."**

_"Winner-Catalonia Enterprises. _

_Consistency. _

_Every time you experience any of our products, rest assured that you will be exposed to the finest. _

_From our hothouse produce to the pesticides we use on them, we make sure that only the best reaches our consumers. _

_Our genetically engineered livestock is expertly and humanely slaughtered by our latest laser technology. _

_When it comes to feeding your family, we pull out all the stops. _

_Winner-Catalonia Enterprises. We've always been the best. Really."_

Quatre watched Dorothy's idea for an ad campaign play out on his laptop screen with a mixture of nausea and horror. If he hadn't been so shocked, he might have turned away at the point when the cow was hit with a laser beam. Soothing as his wife's narration on the merits of pesticides and laser slaughter was, that didn't make either any more appealing. The visual display of fruit being sprayed with liquid from a can featuring a skull and crossbones, and the sight of a cow as it mooed its last while experiencing a swift zap of death, only made things worse.

"You honestly think this is a good idea?" he sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration as he despairingly sank further into his chair.

"Well, yes," she stated nonchalantly, walking back and forth before his desk at an easy pace. "This way, we not only promote our new chain of grocery stores; we also get to show off the new tech from our research and development branch. Isn't that laser just stunning?"

"Not in a good way. And genetic engineering? You know how I feel about playing with lives. I was grown in a test tube."

"The livestock is grown in petri dishes."

"You shouldn't play God."

"Political correctness please. We're handling a corporation. I'm playing the generic figure representing the ultimate good doubted by agnostics and ignored by atheists."

"Dorothy!"

"What? I don't see anything wrong with it. Just because you're touchy about eating something that was grown in a lab doesn't mean everyone is. The ad's great. It says we're consistently good! And we are!"

"What about the pesticide? You have to admit there's something wrong with that."

"Don't you want pest-free produce? Last thing I want is to bite into a wormy apple. We're just being honest. Also, we sell pesticide. Wouldn't do if we didn't use our own product."

"I don't know, Dorothy. There's something about seeing a cow getting hit by a laser that puts people off."

"Ah yes...the vegetarian demographic," she sighed.

"Could you maybe tone the ad down a bit? We can't risk offending any of our markets."

Sighing again, she walked up to him and caressed his cheek.

"Your lack of ruthlessness is almost charming," she chortled. "Marrying you was definitely a good investment. You're a people person. You understand the people who need to be throwing their money at our company. We need more people like you. People persons. People people. Well, I don't know the proper plural but in using both, I'm still right."

Quickly, she bent over to kiss him on the forehead before making her exit. As he watched her walk out his office, he breathed a sigh of his own and reminded himself that she was as much of an asset to him as he was to her. Besides occupying his heart, she did a damned good job of keeping him on his toes and filling his head with thoughts, both pleasant and unpleasant. He realized a long time ago that this was why he loved her. No matter how she screwed with his mind, in the end, he always seemed to enjoy it.

* * *

Ficlet finished. :)


	3. Liking

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine

**Author's Note****: **Hope you like this. :)

**Polite Acrimony**  
**by mistress amethyst une**

**Liking—"Love me, love my ideas."**

"If you don't quit bothering me, I _will_ punch you."

"We both know you'd only end up hurting yourself if you tried to punch me."

"Listen, Quatre," sighed Dorothy, thoroughly exasperated. "I really don't have time for this. Arguing with you is like kicking puppies: sometimes necessary, always unpleasant. Just leave now before I lose my temper."

"You need to come home with me," he insisted. "You've been working fourteen hour days for the better part of the week, and it's not helping your mood in the least. At this point, all you need to be a full-blown villain is a swishy black cloak and an orchestra to play ominous music wherever you go."

"I _need_ to be here," she retorted. "Our employees aren't complaining about the hours. If I punch out early, I give them a reason to."

"But Dorothy-"

"This is only until the week is up. Leave me be. Do I have to tell you 'The Parable of Minding Your Own Business' again?"

Quatre rolled his eyes, knowing she was going to tell him the tale whether he liked it or not. He had only been recently introduced to the bedtime stories General Catalonia had told Dorothy as a child. As much as he respected his deceased father-in-law, part of him was wracked with guilt over being relieved that he would never meet the man.

"There once was a poor pauper," she began, gesturing for him to take a seat. Defeated, Quatre plopped down onto the chair before her desk, pretending he hadn't heard the story countless times already.

Smiling, she continued, "Now, this pauper was constantly picking his nose. Day in and day out, he would have a finger up one of his nostrils even as fits of coughing gripped him. This was a terrible sight to behold. The old man spat and twirled his finger in his nose all his waking hours. Now, there was this merchant..."

Quatre didn't like this story at all. It was like his father-in-law was lecturing to him from the grave. Even in death, General Catalonia was adept at verbal assault. Besides, who told their little girl this sort of bedtime story? He would be damned if any of his children with Dorothy would grow up hearing "The Legend of the Shrewd Business Maneuver" or "Strangers Eat Little Boys and Girls." He especially would not have her telling them "The Tale Of The Stubborn Man Who Refused To Pay His Debt Even When He Had The Means To Do So." If unsanitized fairy tales were brutal, they had nothing on that story.

"And so the merchant walked up to the pauper and rudely chastised him, calling the poor man disgusting for his nasal habits," Dorothy prattled on, unaware that Quatre was only half-listening. "At this point, the pauper had a coughing fit on the merchant. 'Good sir, I'm dying of consumption. I have the right to do as I please!' said the beggar, grinning wickedly. Within a week, the merchant was dying of consumption, too."

Dorothy slumped down into her seat, grinning from ear to ear. Her opinion of a feel-good story involved the transmission of tuberculosis. Well, her questionable taste in literature was tolerable.

Quatre was resigned to the fact that there were some things about his wife that he would never quite decode.

"So," she smirked, "did I get my point across?"

She got her point across just fine. Quatre stood from his seat, walked up to her without a word and picked her up with minimal effort. Bewildered and now slung over his shoulder, she struggled against him.

"What do you think you're doing?" she yelped.

"Taking a lesson from Heero."

"Did you not get the point of the story?" she squealed as he hauled her down the hallway. "People are staring, you dolt!"

Calmly, he made it to the elevator and pressed the down button. "Let them. It'll build work ethic. I dragged their CEO kicking and screaming from her desk. Let's see them try to be lazy now."

"Quatre!"

The elevator doors opened, letting them in. He set her down once the doors had closed.

"I'm going back up there," she snarled.

"No, you're not," he shot back. "Dorothy, you need rest. Everyone will understand."

"Weren't you listening to the damned story? Mind your own business or suffer the consequences."

Quatre shrugged. "Guess I'm willing to pay that price. Dorothy, I love you. Loving you means not agreeing with everything you have to say."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just going to have to make you hate me then."

She went for the elevator panel, trying to get past him so she could get off on the nearest floor. Before she knew it, he had pressed the emergency stop button.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"You're already tired," he declared, undoing the belt on his trousers as he moved toward her. "Guess I'll just have to tire you out a bit more."

Taking several steps backward, she soon found herself pressed against the elevator's mirrored wall as his arms embraced her like a cage.

She growled.

There was no way out of this one.

"Recreational activities during office hours?" she asked pointedly, trying to resist the urge to ravish the smug smile off his mouth. "That isn't very professional."

He kissed her then. "We'll take it out of leave time."

* * *

Ficlet finished. :)


	4. Authority

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine

**Author's Note****: **Since I'm a child of the nineties, I'm not exactly equipped to write for my new fandom: Psych. Tons of eighties references in that show, and it's so awesome! Quirkiest and funniest detective show I've ever watched. Anyway, the protagonist has a bad habit of passing lies off as "trivia" so that's where this comes from.

**Polite Acrimony**  
**by mistress amethyst une**

**Authority—"Just because I say so."**

"In Ancient Rome, they used to train dogs in the arts of fellatio and cunnilingus," smirked Dorothy, petting Relena's new tiny mutt of a puppy. It sat cradled in Dorothy's lap with its nose buried in a very _risque_ area of her skirt. "Looks like this little thing's a natural."

The three of them were huddled around the fireplace, each seated in a separate plush chair. Quatre threw Dorothy his best impression of a glare, silently urging her to behave as Relena almost lunged from her seat to take the creature back. It quickly settled into her own lap where it almost instantaneously fell asleep.

"I suppose you're not a turn-on," observed Dorothy as the dog began to snore.

Now, there were two weak glare impressions directed at her. Compared to Heero's burning stare, this was child's play.

"Come on, you two," she chortled. "I'm just trying to make conversation. Don't be a pair of socks."

At this, Quatre arched an eyebrow. "Is that street slang?"

"Don't be silly. I've only had one slang lesson with Maxwell, and I'm far from getting my- how did he put it?" At this point, she raised her hands up to form air quotes, "_street cred?_"

"Then what exactly do you mean?" inquired Relena, her interest perked as she absentmindedly ran her hands through her sleeping pet's fur.

"Don't be a pair of socks," she repeated, before adding: "I might have to knock you off."

Dorothy knew that it was sometimes difficult for people conversing with her to tell the difference between a death threat and a joke. However, Quatre had been married to her for years and Relena had been one of her closest friends for the longest time. They should have easily discerned that it was a joke. Laughter was the appropriate response, not this confused and mildly tense silence.

"I'm joking," sighed Dorothy. "What's troubling you two?"

"Have you forgotten the purpose of this visit?" hissed Quatre, his patience wearing thin. "Miss Relena's worried about Heero. He hasn't come back from his mission. He was due to return last week."

"Yes, I remember perfectly. What do you think I brought her the furry little Roman sex toy for? Gloom isn't going to help matters but a little levity never hurt. It's the cement that keeps a heart from breaking for no reason. I know for a fact that Heero's going to be back today."

Quatre and Relena gaped at her.

"And how would you know this?" asked Relena hesitantly.

"I know it will come to pass because I say so," replied Dorothy with the utmost confidence.

Their gaping then evolved into looks of disappointment, something they were far more adept at than glaring.

"And now I see that you have no faith whatsoever in what I'm saying," she added. "How disappointing... Look, the economies of whole colonies and continents have been decided by a simple word from me. Do you think a little matter like Heero is beyond my control?"

Quatre found annoyance quietly seeping into his veins. "Aside from your God complex-"

"Generic figure representing the ultimate good doubted by agnostics and ignored by atheists complex," she quickly corrected. "Political correctness, remember?"

"All right," continued Quatre. "Aside from _that_, how exactly-"

The doorbell rang before Quatre could finish as Relena bolted for the door, rudely awakened dog tucked under one arm. Confused, Quatre followed as Dorothy remained settled in her seat. It wasn't long before he returned, most likely because he would rather be in his bewildering wife's company than witness just how passionate a reunion between separated lovers could be.

Slumping back into his seat, he looked at her in awe. "How did you-"

"Because I said so," she shrugged. "And I might have given Marshal Une access to our company's resources to aid in the search while you were busy contacting the Maganac Corps. Anyway, one of our tracking devices found Heero this morning. I got the message and-"

"You didn't tell me."

He sounded, for lack of a less dramatic term, betrayed.

"I didn't want you to get your hopes up just in case the intel was false. You're the sort of man who blames himself for things he shouldn't. I was trying to make it so you might blame me if things went wrong."

"Dorothy, I could never blame you. I didn't even blame you for the literal gaping hole you poked through me on Libra."

"Yes, as I recall, we both agreed to blame the ZERO system for that. But that's beside the point. Even if I didn't hurt you of my own accord, I couldn't help but feel responsible. I have to protect you. That's why I didn't want you to be entwined in all of this. I actually wasn't sure Heero would get here today. Thankfully, he did. I was beginning to run out of levity to fight my nerves."

His annoyance faded into sudden understanding.

"So the puppy, and all that ridiculous-"

She nodded. "And unless you're willing to rewrite all the history books for me, that fun little fact about Roman canine sex toys is completely untrue."

"Actually, that can be arranged," said Quatre, the faint beginnings of a smile forming on his lips. "Dorothy, you don't need to protect me. I'm a grown man and-"

"I want to, and I will because I say so. Hasn't today taught you that there's nothing you can do to keep the things I say from coming to pass?"

Defeated, Quatre stood and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I suppose I can't stop you. Protect me then. Just know that I'll be doing the same for you, and you can't stop me either."

Reaching up to stroke his cheek, she grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Dorothy definitely has street cred. Have you seen her pimpin gold limo? And the capes and canes her homies at Romafellar have? If anybody in GW is "gangsta," it's definitely Dorothy. ;)


	5. Social Proof

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine.

**Author's Note****: **Pardon the shortness. I felt that this length was appropriate. :)

**Polite Acrimony**  
**by mistress amethyst une**

**Social Proof—"Everybody's doing it."**

Dorothy was prone to liberal interpretation.

"The beautiful queen decided that she simply couldn't let her stepdaughter surpass her in beauty," she narrated to her captive audience. The book she had been reading from had long been tossed aside and completely forgotten. "Besides, the little girl must have been a bit of a brat. Of what use was a beautiful young brat? A plaything for a passing prince? At best, the queen could have just married her daughter off in a political maneuver that might not have borne fruit and then where would the kingdom be? No, she probably wanted to get rid of the girl before she came of age to take the crown away. The queen considered herself a far more capable leader. Why give it up? Oh...and of course, there's the whole matter of envying the child's beauty and whatnot but I'm sure that wasn't her primary motivation."

Reading to children for good PR was a common trend for CEOs and politicians. Relena did it well. Quatre did it well. Surprisingly enough, in a stint of philanthropy for Preventer, even Heero did it well.

Dorothy?

Not so much.

"And that, my dear children, is why the murder was wholly justifiable and-"

At this point, Quatre had no choice but to take her by the arm and haul her away. If one of those children grew up to commit genocide...

* * *

Dorothy definitely is not "everybody." ;)


	6. Scarcity

**Disclaimer:** GW = not mine.

**Author's Note: **Written because the new Frozen Teardrop novel has me mildly butthurt with all the ship sinking but, hey, Angelina seems like an awesome new addition to the canon. xD (integrates into personal fanon) Timeline is shaky because this is fanon.

**Polite Acrimony  
by mistress amethyst une**

**Scarcity****—"Quick, before they're all gone."**

"I met Aunt Angelina for the first and last time when I was ten," explained Dorothy. "You really shouldn't stare so hard."

The admonition was directed toward Quatre. She had lost sight of him within the sprawling mansion on the Dermail estate when they made one turn too many. Minutes later, after going down one of the darker corridors, she found him gaping at a gargantuan painting in one of the halls. Nothing interrupted idle reverie like verbal exposition. As expected, he turned on his heel to face her, mouth agape.

"That's not you?" he blurted.

Dorothy shook her head. "She taught me to marry well. All this she did without ever speaking to me. She also taught me my first cuss word."

The look on his face was doubtful. It was understandable. The resemblance between Dorothy and her aunt was uncanny.

"Also," she pressed on, "that painting is at least fifty years old. It can't possibly be me."

He gave a slight smile. "Your first cuss word?"

"I overheard an argument between her and my father. Pressed my ear against the keyhole of his war room."

_"Fuck it," she sneered. "I can do better than Ein and you know it."_

_"So you decided to have another man knock you up? Angelina, you have to stop this stupidity. At the very least, stop flaunting your indiscretions in your husband's face."_

_"Van is not an indiscretion! He is MY son and that won't change just because Ein contributed nothing to his conception. Besides, that was sixteen years ago. Stop opening old wounds."_

_"It's news to me. What were you thinking? What about Treize?"_

_"The boy understands. Treize is a good boy but Van... He's something I wanted. Something I needed to have to make up for everything I lacked."_

"It would be years before I realized just what that conversation meant," she sighed. "Palace intrigue of that sort is wasted on a child's ears. They used such big words. All I really understood was that she didn't like her husband."

"Quite the controversial sister your father had."

"Cousin," she corrected him. "Angelina Khushrenada, mother of Treize Khushrenada. Not a very nice lady. She turned the archetype of the tragic aristocrat's wife on its head. Cheated shamelessly on her husband and there wasn't a thing he could do about it because her blood was bluer than his. Much as I'd like to bore you with details of my family tree, it's a topic I'd rather not touch upon."

She could have sworn she saw a million questions die on his lips as her words fell upon his ears.

"I will grant you two concessions though," she smirked. "I'll tell you exactly when I first used those two things I learned from her. On the matter of marrying well, I decided not to fall for the hype of a swiftly dropping male population due to the war. Just because men were scarce didn't mean I had to settle."

"So you were waiting for me?" he prodded.

"Hardly," she chortled. "But, aside from being readily available, you had another thing going for you."

Ego deflated, his tone betrayed minor annoyance. "And that would be?"

"When I saw you cry on Libra. Crying for me. Crying because of me. I knew then that you would be the first and only person I would use my first cuss word on as more than a profanity."

Dorothy wasn't prone to fancy admissions of affection. Still, with her aunt looking down on them, the words just came so easily.

He cleared his throat, not exactly sure how to respond. "And when did you first use it? The cuss word?"

She smiled, clearly reveling in his discomfort. "The day you first put the word into action on me," she winked.

* * *

Yep, Dorothy doesn't cuss. Unless it's sex. Cuz duh. Whee, this is finished! :) Also, GW math.

Van = two years younger than Treize.

Treize during series = 24.

Dorothy during series = 16.

24 - 2 - 16 + 10 = 16.


End file.
